


Manorian shorts

by rufousnmacska



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Kingdom of Ash, Kingdom of Ash Spoilers, Manorian, blackbeak witches, crochan witches, ironteeth witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2019-12-30 15:04:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18317705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufousnmacska/pseuds/rufousnmacska
Summary: These are a variety of manorian head canons, AUs, and short fic requests. Unsurprisingly, some aren't very short. No catchy chapter titles or tons of editing. Just replies to great ideas sent to me on tumblr. All of the in-canon fics are set after Kingdom of Ash.





	1. After the final battle...

After the final battle, Dorian holds Manon for hours on the aerie. 

They stand for a short while, then he moves her to sit so they are leaning against Abraxos, who has been eyeing them with concern and sadness. Dorian keeps one arm around her, the other is patting the wyvern who lost his mate.

Eventually, Manon falls asleep against his chest, her arms still wrapped around him, and he wonders how long it’s been since she got rest. Or ate. Or did anything to take care of herself. They are both gore streaked from battle, but the gauntness of her face and the circles under her eyes tell him it’s been awhile. 

A door creaks and Dorian stretches to see Yrene walking towards them. Chaol is waiting in the doorway. 

Yrene bends, and examines Manon for any obvious injuries. Quietly, she says they came the moment they heard about the Thirteen. 

Dorian asks her for a favor and Yrene happily agrees to do it. When she returns to Chaol and tells him, Chaol catches Dorian’s eye and nods.

Some time later, a servant arrives with a message. Dorian shifts Manon into his arms and stands, trying not to wake her. Abraxos tilts his head to watch them leave but makes no effort to object after receiving a goodbye pat. 

As he follows the servant through halls and down stairs, Manon wakes, groggily asking where they are. 

“Inside,” is all Dorian says.

She is so tired, she just rests her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

They get to a room and the servant leaves. Candles are magically lit and a fire flares in the fireplace.

Dorian sits Manon down on a makeshift bed, her bedroll laid out over a pile of hay. She looks around the room to find a table with food and drink, and a small tub filled with water. 

Dorian crouches and starts undoing the buckles of her boots. He works his way up, pulling her filthy clothes off a piece at a time. Manon just watches him silently, unable to subdue her awe at his gentleness and care. His eyes flit to hers every few moments to check if she’s ok. When he’s undressed her, there is a quick brush of his fingers to wipe away a tear, then he undoes her braid.

Taking her hand, he helps her to stand and walks her to the bath. The water is warm, no doubt from his magic. She steps in and sits, letting the warmth soak into her skin. The heat increases and she sighs as it hits her weary bones. 

Without a word, Dorian washes her hair and helps her bathe. 

Manon has never experienced anything like this before. She knows that under other circumstances, she would have pushed back, would have scoffed at such treatment. But not now. Now, she understands. At least, she thinks she is beginning to. 

With love can come heartbreak. She’d lost everything. Yet, not everything. 

Dorian smiles as he holds up a large blanket, waiting to wrap her up in it. 

She lets him. 

He sets food in front of her while he quickly washes. She doesn’t eat much, a few bites. But the warm bread tastes good. 

He leads her to the bed, but makes no move to lay down. Manon takes his hand and pulls, opening her blanket, beckoning for him to join her.

Dorian does, and they fall asleep in each others arms.


	2. Erawan's intentions

Anonymous asked: I just finished Kingdom of Ash and I’m so deep in the manorian trashcan, if you could, would you write a drabble about protective Dorian when Manon finds out what Erawan wanted her for?

Welcome dear anon!! We have plenty of space 😂

I consulted with [@itach-i](https://tmblr.co/m7KZ4RTMn_kx94kIakEZSeQ) on this one so many thanks to her for steering me towards maximum angst!

 

***

 

Erawan was not dead. Somehow he’d survived. Somehow, he’d come back for them. All of them.

Dorian watched helplessly as Yrene was chained to the throne. Chaol lay unconscious a few feet away. Their entire guard slaughtered.

The Valg Prince inside him kept him from turning away, forcing him to watch, to see everything. To feel the collar continue to slither around his neck like a snake.

Dorian raged against it. But his newly depleted power did nothing. Before the lock, he could have destroyed it all. No longer.

Movement from a shadowed corner brought him to a halt and his heart stopped.

No. This couldn’t be real.

No! No NONONO!!

Erawan walked around the throne, hand in hand with Manon. He sat, pulling her into his lap.

His eyes slid to Dorian and he smiled. He smiled as he ran his hand over the collar on her neck. Then down her bare arm.

Dorian screamed.

***

Manon shook him to no avail. He was not waking up from this one. Calling his name hadn’t worked. So finally, she slapped his face. Once, twice, each time with a cringe, hating to hurt him.

His eyes flew open. In between ragged, gasping breaths, their usual clarity returned. More and more with each breath. The instant he’d seen her, recognized her, he’d started to come around.

Pushing himself to sit against the headboard, Dorian dragged a shaking hand over his face.

“What happened?” she asked. “Do you have nightmares like this when I’m not here?”

They saw each other when they could. It was never enough. Each time one had to return home was an agony, growing harder with every visit. But they did it. For their kingdoms. For now.

“No. This one was…”

His throat sounded raw but Manon hadn’t heard him screaming. The thrashing had woken her.

“Tell me,” she said.

“I… Erawan was back. I was in a collar. He’d captured Yrene. To use her to remake the wyrdkeys. He…”

Dorian trailed off and Manon reached up to rub his shoulder. “Was Chaol there?” The question slipped out. Of course he was. And of course he’d been hurt, or worse.

“Yes but…” His eyes grew dark, his voice turned deep and guttural with anger. “He had you. Erawan had you. As his queen. Just like he’d wanted. He collared you and paraded you in front of me like some… like some…”

He stopped, looking as if he might throw up. But then his magic flared, surging around them, brushing warmly against her skin as he shielded her.

“It’s ok,” she whispered, pulling him towards her. “It’s ok. You’re ok.”

Manon held him until his body relaxed and his magic settled. She still felt it surrounding her. In fact, she realized, it had been there since before she’d pulled him from the nightmare.

They sat in silence for a long time before Dorian said, “ He wanted you for his queen. For real, not just in the dream.” Power pulsed around her again.

Erawan had always looked at her differently than other men. It had disturbed her, even before she knew what he was. Her skin crawled at their every interaction. It crawled now with the understanding of what he’d truly intended for her. The words Dorian couldn’t speak.

Brood mare.

Had her grandmother known?

Manon almost laughed out loud. Of course she did. The matron would have offered her up with no questions asked.

“How did you know that? I thought you said you never spoke to him directly.”

His eyes closed and she was about to take back the question when he said, “Maeve tried to distract him so I could sneak into his tower. She shifted into a form she thought he’d… appreciate.” He looked at her and she cupped his cheek. No tears there, but they were close. “I think she was also trying to test me. See if I’d react.”

“And you didn’t.” She said it with pride. He’d taken on Maeve and Erawan in a battle of wits and magic and had won.

A smile flickered on his face. “I did. Of course I did. But I managed to keep it hidden from her.”

“Well,” she said, easing them to lay down, “I’d say that shows how impossible that dream was.”

“How do you mean?”

Dorian was nestled against her, their arms around each other. His magic was still there but she sensed it ebbing. Slowly.

The thought made a soft heat grow within her. She was the Witch Queen. Deadly and powerful in her own right. But knowing there was someone who wanted to protect her out of love and not duty… the way her Thirteen had always done despite her own denial. Knowing it was Dorian, the man she’d now be shielding with magic if she possessed it…

“I mean that you’re much too strong to be collared again.”

He breathed out a laugh. “I’ve got a limit now though, witchling.”

“You do, princeling,” she agreed. “But it’s not about the magic now.”

Pulling apart, he propped his head on his hand to look at her. Manon looked back, not bothering to disguise the love she felt, and the confidence in her words.

He gave her a gentle smile, then returned to her arms and sighed. “I don’t want you to leave. Tomorrow. Ever.”

“I don’t want to either.” She listened to his breathing, his heart, growing drowsy with every passing beat. “Soon, princeling. Soon we can stop leaving.”

Dorian’s magic tightened around her, just as his arms did.


	3. Only one witch...

Anonymous asked - Ok but why is no one talking about that line in KoA where Dorian tells Maeve “there is only one witch who will be my queen” ❤️❤️❤️ Any HC for a manorian wedding?

 

That line was fucking awesome! The timing, the emotion, everything!

I think I pterodactyl screeched when I read it.

So my headcanon is that they don’t get married for a while.

 

***

 

Manon has to focus on truly uniting the witches now that they aren’t joined against a common enemy. There’s still a lot to work through aside from rebuilding the Wastes.

Dorian has to rebuild his kingdom and come to terms with what he learned about his father. (And maybe find out where his mom is?? lol)

Manon has to learn how to grieve and heal from basically losing her entire family in one fell swoop.

All of these are things they will help the other with. The political stuff but also the healing.

_**That was a canon promise made between them at the end of koa.** _

So the Ferian Gap is their halfway meeting point and they meet there pretty often. For the official visits.

But she also visits him in Rifthold and he shifts and flies to her in the Wastes. Chaol and Petrah are the only ones who know how often that happens.

Yrene has been hounding Dorian to propose, but he’s held off, wanting to make sure Manon is ready. The next time she visits him, they’re all eating together and Yrene and Chaol’s oldest kid just blurts out “When are you two getting married?”

Everyone is silent. Chaol is glaring at Yrene since it was kind of her doing. Dorian is speechless and Manon just stares at the kid.

But when she looks at Dorian and he looks at her, they both feel it. They know it’s time.

The wedding is held at the Ferian Gap so that all can attend. Including the wyverns.

They write their own vows which Manon freaks out over but Glennis helps her. Dorian isn’t nervous at all. But when Manon walks out onto the balcony where the ceremony is held (so Brax can be there), he’s blown away by how she looks.

Manon does not do dresses. But she does dress up. When the occasion calls for it.

She has on form fitting black pants, and a tight, red jacket that falls to her waist. Aelin lent her some heeled shoes that she manages with ease. Her hair is pulled up and her crown is glowing brilliantly and it lights her up too. Everyone gasps and Dorian can’t breathe.

Her eyes are only on him. He’s wearing a long golden jacket with a red embroidered wyvern. Which looks suspiciously familiar with its scarred eye and iron teeth.

When she reaches him at the altar she whispers “Hello princeling.”

He finally inhales and says “Hello Witchling.”

They light twelve candles during the ceremony and Dorian keeps them lit all night with his magic.

After a night of eating and dancing (Manon dances but begrudgingly at first… then admits it was fun) they fly off on Abraxos for a few days alone.

When they return to the real world, they live together in Rifthold but Manon spends a lot of time in the Wastes.

They go there for months each summer to escape the heat in Adarlan and to make sure it becomes a second home to their witchlings.


	4. Manorian witchling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are from different requests, so they don't follow a set timeline or necessarily involve the same characters. Though I did try to use Rhiannon as their daughter's name in most of these.

Anonymous asked: Hiiii I was just wondering if could get some HCs of Manon being protective over the Manorian baby bc I feel like even though she’s not one to hover the way Dorian does, she’s protective as hell over her witchling and god help anyone who hurts her

Hello! 😊

*****

Manon is very protective of their daughter. But not in the ways Dorian is. He worries about Rhiannon getting hurt in training, or when she’s flying.

Those activities are normal for Manon, so she isn’t bothered watching their daughter fight with a sword or hop on the back of a wyvern and take to the skies.

Instead, Manon worries about the human things.

When their witchling starts lessons with other children, Manon’s heart breaks sending her off on the first day. She gets nothing done, too busy worrying. Dorian reminding her that Rhia hasn’t even left the castle doesn’t help.

When Rhia is chosen to sing a solo in her school’s Yulemas festivities, Dorian is ecstatic. Manon wants to throw up. Although she has become used to addressing large crowds as queen, she still doesn’t like it. The idea of her witchling standing up and _singing_ in front of so many people… She can barely watch when Rhia takes the stage. And the moment their daughter begins to sing, her anxiety is drowned out with pride.

When Rhia has her heart broken the first time, it’s Dorian who holds Manon back from going after the witch who caused it.

When Manon overhears courtiers gossiping about Rhia’s fashion sense, she just barely keeps herself from drawing a sword on them.

She doesn’t hold back though when a boy foolishly decides to tease Rhia about her white hair. A flash of Manon’s iron teeth and nails sends the boy running away.

Manon refuses to watch Rhia ride a horse. Unlike wyverns, those beasts are dangerous and unwieldy and _cannot_ be trusted.

Throughout all of this, Dorian is the only one who knows how protective Manon really is. He’s the one she confides in with her worries and fears for their witchling. She never wants Rhia to see it. Not because she’s embarrassed. But because she doesn’t want her daughter to be afraid of anything, whether it’s aerial acrobatics on a wyvern, or asking someone to dance.

 

* * *

 

Anonymous asked: How perfect would boy & girl Manorian twins be ??? girl could have Dorian’s magic and boy (named Tristan, obvi) could be iron teeth (in KoA it’s mentioned male ironteeth are more rare than male crochans but possible) pleeeeease, world of throne of glass also I can’t see Manon enjoying pregnancy so I’d guess they’d be done after the two (where’s your question anon? Nowhere really I just need a fic of this)  

 

*****

Pregnant Manon, like all versions of Manon, is a force to be reckoned with. She’s always taken good care of herself since she views her body as a weapon that must be well maintained. The one big exception was her period of grieving for the Thirteen, when she couldn’t be bothered to think about sleeping or eating well. But as time passed and she slowly healed, she fell back into old habits of self care.

So when she learns she is pregnant, she’s obsessed with eating good food and staying active, insisting on keeping up her normal training schedule.

Until the morning sickness hits.

And she feels like shit more often than not. And Yrene keeps forcing her to eat bland food that somehow still smells disgusting. And she ends up throwing everything up anyway. And she just wants to sleep.

That nightmare subsides after the first few months. Only to be replaced by weight gain (she **hates** having to be fitted for new clothes) and… digestive issues (which she refuses to discuss forcing Yrene to give her a fiber tonic each morning).

Eventually, she can’t fly. Her belly has grown a bit more quickly than Yrene expected and Manon can’t sit comfortably on Abraxos. Her wyvern senses what’s happening to her and refrains from getting huffy about not flying. This pisses her off to no end. Not only can she not get in the saddle, but Abraxos has betrayed her by not even getting angry on her behalf. He only stares at her defiantly, then blows a hot breath in her face, making her feel nauseous.

As her belly grows, the back pain gets worse. She has a few scares with cramping and Yrene orders bed rest. Manon obeys, but as her initial fears lessen, her annoyance rises. She lasts four days, a miracle she thinks, before she uses her title of Queen to demand she be allowed brief walks around the room. Yrene agrees but insists she must be present.

Where is Dorian in all of this? When he’s not delegating everything to Chaol and reading all he can find about witch births (there’s not a lot), he’s with Manon. Rubbing her feet or back, helping her bathe, reading to her. Or, when she prefers, he finds somewhere else to be.

When the day comes, Manon and Dorian are terrified. Everyone knows how dangerous childbirth is for witches. But Yrene, and somewhat surprisingly, Chaol, are there to calm and steady them. Glennis is there too providing lots of wisdom and comfort. (Dorian’s mother was sent to stay in the mountains the week before to get her the hell out of the way resulting in much less stress for everyone.)

Manon has a brief but intense labor, giving birth to a girl. She has wisps of dark hair and gold eyes. Everyone is sagging with relief that mother and daughter are healthy when Manon cries out in pain.

Less than an hour later, Dorian is holding Rhiannon in one arm and silver-haired, blue-eyed Tristan in the other. He and Manon are both staring at their witchlings in utter awe and disbelief.

They had not been planning for twins, as they are rarer than male witches. Luckily, Manon had added a male name to the short list of possibilities. The list had been Rhiannon, Asterin, Tristan, and… that was it. They’d planned to use Asterin as a middle name for Rhiannon. So, yes. This is completely unexpected.

Yrene apologizes for not realizing it, but they don’t accept it. She helped bring their witchlings into the world without any complications to them or their mother, and they couldn’t be happier.

It doesn’t take long for them to determine that, while both are witches, Tristan has blue blood and Rhia has red. Glennis has never seen anything like it, and neither have Manon or Petrah.

It takes longer for them to see that while Tristan inherited his mother’s iron, Rhia has her father’s raw magic. An exceptionally large amount. That is the only explanation they can think of for the difference in blood. Ultimately though, they don’t care. Both the prince and princess are witches and it doesn’t matter to Manon or Dorian who has iron or magic, and who doesn’t.

Both Rhia and Tristan are raised to someday rule. Spending half the year in the Wastes, half in Adarlan, they consider both places their home and love them equally.

They are best friends who will fight at the drop of a hat and make up just as quickly. They never argue about anything serious though. They know how important they are to each other, and both feel the weight of the crowns they will one day wear.

For once they are of age, and their parents have decided to step down, Tristan is crowned the King of Adarlan and Rhiannon is the Witch Queen of the Wastes.

 

* * *

 

Anonymous asked: Okay so I saw a post you reblogged about a memorial for the 13 and this immediately came to mind: how about some hc about Manon taking Rhiannon to see the memorial for the first time and telling her what happened to her aunts?

 

The [original post ](https://ladyofanielle.tumblr.com/post/180032336344/in-the-middle-of-the-plain-of-theralis-in-front)was by [@ladyofanielle](https://tmblr.co/mZPCBUMOqlvmyFKI9dq4W7A) and I love their description of the monument! Especially the inclusion of the wyverns’ names because they were just as heroic and brave as their riders. Thank you for that lovely imagery!

*****

Witches, humans, and fae come from all over Erilea to take part in the now annual ceremony held in Orynth to celebrate victory and remember all who were lost.

But Manon always arrives a few days early so she can be there at the exact moment it happened.

She and Abraxos spend the day at the monument built to honor her Thirteen and their mounts. People stay away, giving her privacy, but watching from afar as the Witch Queen and her wyvern mourn.

That evening, as the sun sets and the air grows cold, they return to the castle where Dorian and the others wait.

Each year it’s the same.

Until the year she is pregnant.

Due to give birth to their witchling a few weeks after the anniversary of the battle, she makes the choice to stay home. Dorian, Yrene, and Glennis try their best to console her, but the sadness takes hold.

Until she has Rhiannon and holds her in her arms.

Their trips to Orynth resume, though Manon leaves Rhia with Dorian when she visits the site. It’s still too hard to talk about, especially when she is there, when she relives that day’s battle in her mind. When she sees it happen again and again. She will tell Rhia about her aunts, but not until she is older. Not until Manon can share it.

**

When her mother wakes Rhia up, the witchling groans at the still dark sky. She stayed up too late playing with the other children. But she tries to ignore her annoyance at being woken so early. There is something different about this trip to Orynth. She’d felt it since they left home. Something about her mother’s face, the tone of her voice. The way her father was always touching her mother, trying to comfort her.

As her grogginess fades, Rhia realizes what day it is. And what it means that she is being told to get up.

This is the first time her mother has come to get her before leaving the castle.

Rhia knows where her mother goes each year they come to this city. She’s seen the monument from the sky as they fly over on Abraxos. Her father has told her some things, but not much. That mother and Brax go to honor friends who died in the war. That those friends are why her mother survived, why the city survived.

She bolts upright and begins to dress, making sure to wear her warmest layers.

It takes mere minutes to fly to the monument. From the ground, Rhia is awed by its size. She almost falls over looking up to the top. But her mother catches her and laughs. She clasps Rhia’s hand and they walk around the tall, iron obelisk.

Carved into each of the three sides, are names. Rhia can’t read well yet, but she recognizes one name repeated several times.

 _Blackbeak_.

Glancing up to her mother, she better understands what this place is and who these people were.

Quietly, her mother begins to speak the names of witches and their wyverns. They move slowly around to each side, pausing in silence after a name is read.

Rhia notices that her mother doesn’t read one name, but she doesn’t ask why.

When they are done, they walk back to where Brax is now sitting and settle in against him. Rhia stares at him, seeing the sadness in his face. Her mother says, “Narene was his mate.”

Tears build in Rhia’s eyes and she rubs her hand along his rough neck. “I’m sorry, Brax.” He huffs a reply, then curls himself around the two of them.

“They were your aunts. The Thirteen. The fiercest coven of Ironteeth witches to take to the skies,” her mother says.

After wiping her face, Rhia says, “Poppa said they saved you and Brax.”

“They did. They saved me more times than I can count.” When Rhia stares up at the unspoken name, her mother says, “You were named after one.”

She already knows that her first name comes from the first Crochan Queen. Still staring at the dark obelisk, she whispers, “Asterin,” her middle name.

Her mother pulls her into her lap and rests her chin on top of her head.

“What was she like?” Rhia asks.

“She was wild and loyal and the strongest witch I knew,” her mother says softly. “She was my best friend.”

As her mother snuggles her closer, Rhia listens to every word, every story, excited to learn everything she can about the witch with whom she shares a name.

When the stories are done, and they realize how dark and cold it is, they climb back onto Abraxos to return to the castle. As her mother straps her in to the saddle, Rhia can’t help but feel sad that she never got to meet her Aunt Asterin.

“She would have loved you so much, witchling,” her mother whispers.

“I love her too, momma.”

 

* * *

 

Anonymous asked: Hc that Manon uses the extra bolts of spider silk she stole to make armor for her daughter once her training is complete and Rhiannon is like where tf did you get so much of it??? And when Manon tells her how just stares at her for a minute bc omg her mom is a badass

 

Ahhhh this is wonderful!! ❤️

What if Manon puts it into her witchling’s clothes when she is young?

*****

Everything comes out when the Emperor and Empress of the Southern Continent visit Rifthold for the first time since being crowned. After dinner, she’s sent to bed. But Rhia sneaks out to spy on her parents and the royals. There’s no way she’s going to miss out on the stories about the far away land and their Rukhin.

At one point, her father asks Nesryn to tell her mother the story about the kharankui. About how she and Sartaq were captured and she rescued him.

Rhia isn’t sure what creatures they’re talking about until someone mentions their sisters, the Stygian spiders. While she’s never seen one, thank the Goddess, she’s heard of them, and the description caused more than one nightmare.

From her hiding place, she shivers at the tale, feeling sick to her stomach at the thought of being wrapped up in silk and dragged away by a giant spider. Peeking around the door, she stares wide-eyed at the royals, amazed that they survived the encounter.

“And that’s when I confessed my love for her. I waited for the perfect moment,” the Emperor says, making his wife blush and Rhia’s parents laugh.

The Empress looks to her mother and asks, “Your wyvern has spider silk in his wings doesn’t he?”

Sartaq says, “Trying to change the subject,” and her father laughs again.

Rhia’s mother ignores the men and answers. “Yes. His wings were too fragile. He needed it to fly.”

“That must have taken…” Nesryn pauses to think. “Hundreds of yards! How did you get that much? Falkan had to trade decades of his life for a few feet.”

Her mother is quiet, then her father nudges her and says, “Tell them.”

Rhia inches closer. She’s never heard this story, probably because the spiders scared her so much.

She listens in awe as her mother tells them how she sought out the Stygian spiders and fooled them into offering a huge bolt of their silk. And how Abraxos threw them off a cliff with a single swipe of his tail.

The royals and her parents are laughing, but Rhia turns away and flops down on the floor, dizzy from what she’s just heard.

Her mother. Her mother flew into the spider territory, alone. She faced the horrible monsters head on and tricked them into getting the silk she needed. Then, she simply flew away.

Slowly, she begins to hear what they are talking about now.

“She found you?” Sartaq asks.

Her father must have taken over the story. “When magic returned, the spider was able to use Falkan’s shape shifting. And she hunted Manon.”

Rhia listens to the rest. How the spider was held by her father’s magic until he could learn how to shape shift. How when he realized what the spider was, what she was capable of, he killed her.

She sits just outside the sitting room, trying to process all she’s learned. She knew there were stories her parents hadn’t told her. Things that would bring bad dreams. But this story… this one is amazing!

A giggle escapes her lips and she clasps a hand to her mouth.

Within seconds, her mother appears. Rhia grins, hoping her mother can’t resist the smile.

“Back to bed, witchling,” she says softly.

Rhia knows protest is pointless, so she stands, leans through the doorway and waves goodnight to the royals and her father. Sartaq winks at her and Nesryn gives her a pretty smile. Her father blows a kiss and she turns to follow her mother to her room.

Once she’s tucked under the covers, for the second time tonight, her mother kisses her forehead. But before she leaves, Rhia says, “Mother. Did that really happen?”

“Yes. That’s how Brax got his sparkly wings.”

Rhia is quiet, thinking, calculating, while her mother waits by her bed. Finally, she asks, “What did you do with the rest? You must have had some silk left over.”

The proud smile that spreads over her mother’s face makes Rhia’s heart warm. And then she nods across the room to Rhia’s closet. “It’s been put to good use, witchling. The Queen of Terrasen has a tailor who can weave it into clothing.”

Rhia’s eyes go wide. “My clothes?!”

Her mother laughs. “Not all of them. But your training clothes. And there is plenty left for new things as you grow. Now,” her mother kisses her again, “go to sleep. Tomorrow Nesryn will take you for a ride on Salkhi.”

She gasps and then groans. “I can’t sleep now! I’m too excited.”

“Sleep, witchling,” her mother says and Rhia knows she can’t argue.

That night, Rhia dreams of the spiders again. But this time, she chases them off with her sword, her clothing shining like Brax’s wings.

 

* * *

 

Anonymous asked: Holy shit so I’ve been reading all your hc canons and imagine Manorian daughter falling in love with a female and she’s so scared to tell anyone even tho she knows her family wouldn’t care but humans are assholes and she thinks they’d have a problem with their future queen with a female

 

First, I want to say that I am straight and I can’t imagine how difficult it would be for someone to experience this in real life. I hate that people don’t feel safe loving who they want to, or fear their family will reject them (or worse).

Second, I wish we’d had more same sex couples in tog, and a better idea of how the different cultures treated them. We know the witches, Doranelle, the Southern Continent, and Terrasen were accepting, but the others?

I would guess that under Dorian’s dad’s reign, Adarlan was not lgbtq-friendly. People probably felt the need to hide their sexuality.

So, for your ask, I can see how some of the people of Adarlan might not welcome a lesbian or bi queen. But, I also think some wouldn’t care.

I definitely think the people who matter - her parents, aunts/uncles/cousins (human and witch), family friends, etc - would simply be excited and happy for her that she is in love.

If Manon and Dorian’s daughter (I’m sticking with Rhia since that’s the name I fall back on!) felt like she couldn’t come out, I think they would be heartbroken for her. Dorian especially would feel guilty if it was his father who encouraged that kind of atmosphere.

*****

When they find out Rhia has fallen in love with a female witch, they are so happy. Manon is a little nervous, only because she’s fearful her daughter’s heart might be broken again. But she senses something different about this time.

They both wonder why Rhia hasn’t told them though. They’ve just come to the conclusion that their daughter is in love by watching the two witches interact. They don’t want the guilt they feel to interfere with her life though.

One day, Dorian asks Rhia to come to his chambers for lunch.

She isn’t suspicious, as he often asks her to join him. But when she arrives, he is unusually quiet.

They eat in silence until she finally asks him what’s wrong. Dorian cringes inwardly, realizing he’s making things more awkward.

Finally, he says, “ Rhia, we know about Luna.”

She blanches and starts to fiddle with her food.

“Your mother and I think she is wonderful. And we couldn’t be happier for you.”

She looks up, tears forming in her eyes. “Really?”

He smiles. “Really!” As he watches the relief wash over her face, he says, “I’m so sorry you didn’t think you could tell us.”

Rhia shakes her head. “No, I’m sor-“

Dorian interrupts her. Something he’s never done. “No. I will not accept any apology from you because you don’t need to give one.”

She stares, a mixture of disbelief and love.

“I didn’t realize,” he says, emotion threatening to overwhelm him. “I wasn’t aware that it was bad enough here that you’d feel like this.” He reaches out and takes her hand. “I’m sorry, witchling.”

Rhia wipes the tears from her cheeks and smiles. “I knew you and momma wouldn’t care. But I just…”

“No apologies,” he reminds her. “I understand. Witches get a bad reputation about certain things. But humans are worse in many regards.”

Still holding her hand, he says, “However you wish to continue, if you want to wait to say anything, or shout it from the top of the castle, I’ll be right beside you.”

“Me too,” Manon says as she enters the room and places a hand on Rhia’s shoulder.

“Well,” Dorian amends with a wink, “I might not go up on the highest tower with you. But I’ll be there in spirit, witchling.”

Rhia laughs and pulls both of them into a hug.

 

  


* * *

 

Anonymous asked: Okay Manorian baby she’s sixteen meets this heartbreaker of a witch and she gets her heart shattered but then she meets the other witch from the other hc you wrote and holy shit I love gay shit so much help

 

***

Manon didn’t think much of it.

Enthralled by watching it all unfold in front of her eyes, she was happy to see her witchling fall in love. But she never felt a reason to be concerned. Having never loved and lost in this way, she had no framework from which to judge what was happening. No prior experience to tell her things were not going to end well.

So, she’d missed the signs. Rhia letting her lessons go unfinished, not doing the things she’d always loved like reading and training with her wyvern. All of her time was spent with Finn. All of her talk was about Finn. And since he was a well-respected male witch from the Blueblood clan, Manon hadn’t given it a second thought. Hadn’t worried that perhaps things were progressing too quickly or that Rhia was becoming too attached.

In her defense, Dorian missed the signs as well. And since he was the one with experience in these things, she felt justified in not shouldering all of the guilt.

But Mother, it was hard not to. Watching her witchling in tears, unwilling to come out of her room or talk to them…

It was all she could do to keep her temper under control and not storm into that little bastard’s home and tell him exactly what she thought of him. Dorian, upset but not furiously so, somehow calmed her down enough to prevent an incident.

“He’s young. And stupid,” he’d said. “And from what I could get out of Rhia, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

Manon’s glare had been particularly fierce at that nonsense. “Nothing wrong? He is the reason she won’t get out of bed! Why she won’t eat anything!”

“What I meant was,” he’d said, in an annoyingly soothing voice, “it’s not as though he was caught with someone else. Or lied to her about something. They are young and he no longer wanted to be with her. It happens. I wish it hadn’t happened to her, but…”

Dorian’s words hadn’t done much to placate her emotions. But they were logical and had kept her from killing the male witch. She supposed that was good.

Eventually, she also supposed it was good for Rhia to go through this. Good in the long term. Right now it was hell, for both mother and daughter. Dorian too, though at least he was better able to offer some useful wisdom, calling on a time when some courtier had broken his heart.

As it was, Manon tried simple distractions that had worked for her when she’d been grieving the loss of the Thirteen. A different sort of heartache, but painful nonetheless.

She didn’t push, but each morning she’d ask Rhia to come join her for training, or help with some witch business that needed her attention. Dorian would often leave new books for their witchling to read, stories utterly devoid of romance.

And slowly, over time, Rhia began to reemerge. Not quite as chatty and free-spirited as she had been before Finn, but closer to her old self than they’d seen in a while.

Manon and Dorian quietly mourned the loss of their innocent, outgoing daughter. But they’d known it would happen eventually. And she wasn’t gone, only changed. Strengthened, hardened, the inevitable result of growing up.

As a year went by, a year lacking in romantic relationships, Manon grew more conflicted. Selfishly, she was glad that Rhia was avoiding any such entanglements. But, she hated the thought that her daughter seemed afraid to try again.

So it was with a mix of strong emotions that Manon realized her witchling was falling in love with someone new.

Luna Blackbeak was well known for her flying skill, reminding Manon, painfully, of Asterin. The daring and acrobatics brought back so many memories of her second that Manon sometimes had to leave the wyvern training grounds in the middle of practice. The young witch’s blonde hair did nothing to lessen the resemblance.

When Rhia brought Luna to dine with them one night, Manon’s initial thought was to skip the meal and claim she had work to do. However, it didn’t take long for her impression to change. Yes, superficially Luna looked a little like Asterin, and flew like Asterin, but the witchling was quiet and unassuming in a way Asterin had never been. Polite, respectful, and calm. Nothing of her second’s swagger or wildness.

After that dinner, Manon could avoid the comparisons, now able to see the witch as her own person.

After that dinner, Manon was aware that Rhia was smitten with Luna. And Luna returned the feelings.

The realization set her nerves on edge. That night in bed, she told Dorian what she suspected, half hoping he would say she’d been seeing things. But when he agreed, Manon’s hand began to shake. Not in anger, but fear. Fear from knowing she would have no control over what might come, and Rhia may have her heart broken again. She and Dorian talked into the night, and as before, he was able to soothe her roiling emotions.

But she couldn’t help watching Rhia more closely, tracking her interactions with Luna. Worrying.

The more she watched them though, the more she picked up on things she’d never seen when Rhia was with Finn - little gestures of kindness for no reason, shared looks as if in silent communication, jokes that only the other understood. All things she and Dorian had together.  

 _This_ was her witchling in love. It was so much more than what she now thought of as mere infatuation with Finn. Rhia and Luna were truly friends and equals.

That knowledge helped ease her earlier worries. Certainly, life and love were unpredictable, but she sensed something special in this pairing. And more than that, Rhia had matured into a confident, intelligent witch. Manon trusted her judgment, and both she and Dorian liked Luna very much.

The only thing that troubled them was that after months together, Rhia and Luna hadn’t said anything to them, to anyone, about their relationship.

Their roles from over a year ago were now reversed. Manon, used to the way humans often looked at witches, was upset, though not surprised at Rhia’s reluctance. Dorian was not only upset, but ashamed.

“My father’s reign keeps coming back to haunt me,” he admitted one night in bed.

“He didn’t force people to think badly of two females or two males together,” Manon reasoned. “And he didn’t invent it.”

Dorian couldn’t be swayed. “Perhaps, but he certainly encouraged it enough to get the same result.“

Manon nodded. She knew humans could be just as cruel and prejudiced as witches were thought to be. It didn’t seem to matter if a ruler’s opinions were good or bad, forced onto their people or not. Ideas and behaviors filtered quickly through the ranks, adopted and copied by all sorts. Humans so enjoyed emulating their leaders, even if they preached hatred.

The Blackbeak Matron’s face flashed across her mind, and she realized humans were not the only ones vulnerable to imitating their rulers.

“I think,” she said, pausing for a moment to order her thoughts, “we should tell her we know and that we support her.” Dorian opened his mouth but she continued, “Not to interfere, or pressure her. It’s up to them how they want to move forward.”

He was quiet for a few moments before asking, “Will you let me talk to her? It’s kind of my fault she feels like she has to hide her relationship with Luna.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s bigger than that. Than us.” He sighed, as if the weight of being a king, and father, had suddenly grown heavier. “ _It will be our fault_ ,” she said, “if we do nothing to change things. As king and queen, we must work to change people’s perceptions.”

Dorian stared at her for a moment, his mouth curving into a smile. With a glint of teasing, he narrowed his eyes. “You’ve always been a good ruler, but when did you become so wise in the ways of love, witchling?”

“I’ve had some good teachers,” she replied coolly. “Glennis. Asterin. Petr-”

Dorian snorted a laugh then stopped her short with a kiss.

 

* * *

  

Anonymous asked: Ok but hear me out....Manon placing her crown on her daughter’s head for the first time and feeling herself swell with pride bc she doesn’t know what she did to deserve this great of a life but she’s definitely not gonna question it, and her daughter whispers “I promise I’ll make you proud” and Manon smiles at her and says “You already have, witchling” Thoughts?

 

My thoughts? I think my heart just broke a little bit, anon.

*****

Manon and Dorian aren’t the type of royals who are hesitant to pass things on to their daughter when the time is right. They know exactly how capable she is and that she will be an exceptional ruler of The Wastes and Adarlan.

Because Asterin Crochan Havilliard is the fiercest witch of her generation. A natural on a broom or a wyvern, she mastered the sword by the age of 14, the bow not long after. Like her mother, she has a mind for battle and military strategy.

Unlike her mother, who had to learn mostly on her own and later in life, she is raised to be a political strategist as well. While she prefers to be in the air, she handles court politics easily. Her dry wit and intellect charms everyone she meets. But she makes sure people never forget that she is first and foremost a witch.

By the time she is 17, she has selected a coven filled with Crochan, Blackbeak, and Blueblood witches. Although they number thirteen, she has not given them that name. She’s grown up hearing the stories of her mother’s coven and visiting their monument in Orynth. She knows they can never be replaced. But she does small things to honor them.

Especially the aunt she is named for. Which is why she pushes herself to be a crack shot with her bow. And why she selects a pale blue wyvern that is hatched at the Ferian Gap when she’s 10.

In addition to her close-knit coven of witches, she counts fae and humans as best friends - the second oldest Terrasen princess and her human cousins in court, Uncle Chaol and Aunt Yrene’s children.

Gifted with raven black hair, deep blue eyes flecked with gold, and a good dose of her father’s raw power, her beauty and magic are the envy of many kingdoms. But she doesn’t judge others based on magical ability or looks or lineage. Rather, she seeks kindness and loyalty in her companions.

She has vowed to help and protect those who can’t fight for themselves. As her mother once did when she united their people.

That is one of the oaths she swears in front of her parents the day her mother places the Crown of Stars on her head, the day her father bestows his sword, Damaris, to her.

Queen Asterin Crochan Havilliard tries to swallow her emotions as her parents stare at her with immense love and pride. But she decides to hell with protocol, and steps forward to hug both of them.

For if a queen cannot show love and gratitude, she is not a true leader. The sentiment was instilled in her at a young age by her mother. And she’s never once forgotten it.

 

* * *

 

Anonymous asked: So this hc is kind of au but whatever. The Manorian baby adores Christmas and Dorian is psyched bc he does too!! Every year both of them go caroling around the castle with Santa hats on, decorate the Christmas tree, bake cookies, the whole nine yards. Manon pretends to be exasperated with their antics but Rhiannon sees her linger in the doorway smiling softly while she and her father are icing the cookies. And she’s totally the one who wakes first when Rhiannon comes to get them in the morning

 

I love this so, so much!

And we can just call it Yulemas and trade the Santa hats (so cute!) for bright hats with a big poufy ball on the end that Philippa has knitted for them.

*****

Rhia loves decorating trees so much that they put a bunch up throughout the castle. Dorian creates little spheres of light with his magic to sprinkle all over them.

Yrene and Dorian take the kids caroling while Chaol (“I can’t sing”) and Manon (“You can’t make me”) follow behind.

After Rhia sees her mother watching them make cookies, Manon is pulled into the kitchen to help. She’s reluctant until Rhia shows her the wyvern shaped cookies waiting to be decorated. Manon sits down and soon all the different icings are arrayed in front of her. Rhia watches in awe as her mother makes each wyvern different. When they’re done, the witchling refuses to eat them, instead turning them into ornaments for the tree in their suite of rooms.

Dorian, of course, notices that the twelve wyvern cookie ornaments look familiar, but says nothing, just gives Manon a hug and kiss after Rhia hangs them up.

Yulemas morning, Manon and Rhia have to pull Dorian out of bed. It’s still dark out and he’s grumpy at first. But when he sees his witchlings, both wearing a Philippa hat and excited to open presents, his annoyance disappears.

After that, the wyvern cookies become an annual tradition. But Manon still refuses to sing. And only wears the hat on Yulemas morning in the privacy of their rooms.

 

* * *

 

 


	5. Halloween AU

Anonymous asked: HAPPY HALLOWEEN YOU BEAUTIFUL SOUL Do you have any headcanons about how modern au manorian celebrates?  

 

*****

Manorian celebrating Halloween is (surprise!) a tale of opposites.

Dorian plans his costumes months ahead of time. He is not into timely or current event type costumes. Instead he goes for historic or book character cosplay or dressing up as a literary pun. Something awesome but it takes people a few moments to figure out.

One year he starts growing his hair out and stops shaving. Remember, he plans. By the time Halloween rolls around, his hair is long and he has a bushy beard. He wears jeans, a t-shirt and a clay covered apron. (hairy potter)

Manon doesn’t dislike Halloween but she just doesn’t get into it like Dorian. At least, not for herself. She goes all out costuming their dog Abraxos though . He’s a big doofus who loves attention so he lets her dress him up.

Dorian always suggests funny ideas but Manon ignores him and does what she wants. She claims this is the one time all year he will look scary. Which means Brax goes as a dragon or a witch or a giant spider.

When it comes to her own costume, Manon puts in the least amount of effort she can. Like, she’ll dress in all black with a ski mask and say she’s a thief.

Everyone loves it though because right before they get to the party, Dorian makes her carry a red heart purse he got without her knowing and tells everyone she stole his heart.


	6. Manon and Rowan BFFs

Anonymous asked: Hc that after everyone’s kingdoms are rebuilt Rowan and Manon become a brotp. Whenever Rowaelin comes to Rifthold he and Manon will spar together, trade work out tips, and gossip about the ridiculous antics of Aelin and Dorian. And one day when they’re chatting Aelin and Dorian hear them laughing and start eavesdropping only burst in outraged when they figure out what they’re talking about. “WHAT IS THIS??????” And Rowan and Manon just look over at them and casually say “Support group” Thoughts?  

 

*****

Lmao this is great!!

Especially since Rowan and Manon probably wouldnt be into the book club vibe of Dorian and Aelin. They enjoy reading but they’re not obsessive about it.

Same thing with clothes. As time passes Dorian gets back into his old habits of Dressing Well. Aelin never really fell out of the habit. Leaving Manon and Rowan to commiserate over giant closets filled with extravagant clothing instead of the weaponry they’d prefer.

One time when Manon and Dorian visit Orynth, Elide and Lorcan are there. Lorcan gives it his best shot but eventually sneaks away to leave Elide with Aelin and Dorian to argue over the end of a book series. (he taught Elide to read and she devours every book she gets her hands on)

Eventually he finds Manon and Rowan. They salute him with their glasses of wine and welcome him to the club.

They collectively agree that they are too old for this shit.

They also collectively agree that they wouldn’t change a thing about their spouses! ❤️


	7. Dorian uses the keys alone

 

 

 

Anonymous asked: Prompt idea but what if Dorian, because he loves to be self sacrificial, decides to forge the lock on his own so that Aelin has the power to beat Maeve with her fire.

 

*****

Following Erawan’s Ironteeth legion north in his wyvern form was risky, but it was the fastest way he could get to Terrasen. Even so, he’d fallen so far behind, he estimated them to be days ahead.

When they’d set out from Morath, the force of witches and wyverns spread out in front of him was never-ending. He couldn’t see past them to clear skies.

What awaited them in Orynth? Death and destruction?  Or had Manon summoned the Crochans to help Aedion in his defense of the kingdom?

A selfish part of him hoped she hadn’t. If she was still trying to gather the witches to her, that meant she wasn’t yet in the thick of battle. And wouldn’t be facing this hellish force flying ahead of him.

Dorian’s plan was to go to Orynth, hoping to find his friends, hoping they’d found a way around this curse. After being in Maeve’s head and stealing some of her power, he sensed she was still alive. And when she set out for Terrasen, probably with Erawan and the remainder of his armies, he sensed that too.

He should have ended her. Should have tried to kill Erawan, Kaltain’s warnings be damned. Then none of this would be happening.

The wyrdkeys pulsed in his pocket, sending a sickly tempting call to him. And so, his plan changed.

He didn’t need to wait until he reached Terrasen to use them and close the gate. If he did it now, perhaps he could remove Erawan from the equation. That still left the valg king’s armies and Maeve… But he’d just have to have faith in his friends that they could stop her.

Dorian spotted a small opening in the dense forest and landed, switching back to his human form. The place was familiar but he didn’t think he’d ever been to this part of Oakwald before. Nothing looked familiar. He felt it. And when he tried to delve deeper into that feeling, it pulled away. Like trying to remember a dream after waking up.

He’d seen the ruins of a temple from overhead, looking as if it had been pushed into a deep ravine. Who it had belonged to, he didn’t know. It didn’t really matter, he mused. If the ritual worked, there would be no gods left in this world who needed temples.

The thought made him wonder about the witch’s chosen goddess. Would she disappear with the others? What would that do to the clans? To Manon? She’d never spoken in detail of their religion, but he’d heard her invoke the Three-Faced Goddess.

That feeling of recognition washed over him again, prickling his skin like a chilled breeze. Turning around in a circle, he examined every tree, every rise and outcropping. None of it sparked a memory.

Dorian realized he was stalling.

With a shaky breath, he cursed his cowardice and pulled the three keys from his pocket. Manon had never told him the specifics of the ritual that she’d learned from Elena in the witch mirror. But he’d gathered enough from what Kaltain had told him and what he’d seen in Morath.

The wielder became one with the keys, thus becoming the door. The wyrdmarks opened it. What was to come after was vague, and he hoped for some guidance once he went through, perhaps from Elena or the gods themselves.

He pulled his blade free. Sorrel’s gift to him for besting her in their training. Again, that ripple of  recollection passed over him, tugging at his consciousness.

“Enough,” he chided himself. “It doesn’t matter.”

With a quick slash of the knife, he cut an opening in his forearm and put the wyrdkeys inside.

His magic pushed against it, wanting to expel the foul, evil presence from his body. Fighting it back, he willed the wound to heal shut.

Blood still dripped from his arm and he used it to trace the wyrdmarks for _OPEN_ on the ground. The instant he completed the final mark, the keys burst to life and he was dragged into an abyss of searing pain.

It might have been seconds, or minutes, or days before he opened his eyes. Time was meaningless in such agony. And yet, he knew he didn’t have much of it.

There was a hard pull on his magic, so Dorian let it go. The burning subsided briefly and he watched a golden haze begin to take shape before him. As it used his magic, Dorian heard someone approach. Expecting Elena or maybe even Gavin, he was shocked when his father came forward out of the gray fog.

Feeling his sword hang heavily from his belt, Dorian assumed Damaris had summoned the man somehow. As if knowing he needed to see him one last time before he died.

“Did you recognize the place where you left your body?” his father asked.

“No,” Dorian said, gritting his teeth.

“Let me show you.”

Before he could do anything, his father stepped close and placed a hand on Dorian’s head.

In a flash, the pain, the fog, the lock… Everything was gone, replaced with the clearing he’d been in. But his solitary body was not there.

A group of witches and men filled the area, watching each other suspiciously. Dorian saw his father go into a small caravan with the Blackbeak matron. He was spun around to come face to face with himself. The collar around this person’s neck was glinting in the sunlight and Dorian thought he might be sick.

“Hello, princeling.”

Dorian spun again, this time of his own accord. Manon walked forward, a deathly wicked grin on her beautiful face. But she didn’t see him. She looked only at the collared man.

He watched as the scene unfolded, realizing this had been the first time they’d met. After he’d freed himself of the collar, he remembered her face, her name. They were the only things he could remember from that time with any clarity. And without hating himself.

But he could never remember the specifics of how her face and name had come to be embedded in his mind.

Somehow, his father was showing it to him, now, before he died.

The setting shifted. They were still in the forest, he still wore the collar. Manon approached, spoke angrily to his father, then turned to face him as he cringed meekly in his saddle.

She spoke his name, peering at him. Not the valg. It was truly him whom she addressed.

The Dorian watching all this for the first time felt a sharp warmth spread through his chest. The heat wasn’t like the pain of creating the lock. It came from being reminded of something he was giving up. Something that hadn’t even had much of a chance to live.

As quickly as it had appeared, the forest disappeared and Dorian was back in this place between places.

His father offered him a wordless apology. Words weren’t always necessary here it seemed. He understood every ounce of regret and sorrow in his father’s eyes. He didn’t know if he could forgive the man, but the sentiment filled a small hollow he’d been carrying in his chest all his life.

As the lock continued to suck his power from him, the mist surrounding them parted, and two figures appeared. He recognized them immediately.

Kaltain and Nehemia. Their forms were like his father’s, solid but they moved as if floating on air.

The pain was cresting again, but he managed to ask, “How? Why are you here?”

Nehemia smiled and pressed her thumb to his forehead. It was a gesture she’d made once before. At the time, he’d been ignorant of its meaning. Only after she was gone had he known she’d helped to awaken his magic with the touch. This time, it awakened nothing. Instead, it soothed the growing agony within him.

Both the women looked to his father. In reply to their unasked question, he said, “Not yet. We are waiting for more.”

Dorian looked around, hoping beyond hope to see one more person walk from the mist.

Kaltain’s dark eyes looked at him with pity. “She is not coming. No magic tethered her to this place, and she bore no favor from the gods to keep her here. She has moved on.”

“Moved on? Where? I thought there was only one afterworld for the dead.”

“There is,” Nehemia answered. “But as long as the doors are open, the dead can travel. If they so wish.”

Dorian looked towards the lock. It still lacked a concrete shape, but it held the faint outline of what he’d been imagining it should look like.

“Will I-” A spasm of pain tore through him as the lock became corporeal. It eased again, leaving him panting for breath. “Will I be able to move on then? Can I follow her?”

A voice from behind him said, “No.”

It sounded familiar in a way that made him sick. If _she_ was here… He refused to turn around. But it didn’t matter.

Asterin glided around to face him. The rest of the Thirteen fell into formation behind her.

“No,” he croaked. “No. All of you? No!” Tears filled his eyes, blurring everyone around him.

Asterin gave him a sad but gracious smile, then took his hand. “You can’t go on. Manon needs you now. More than ever.” Her look turned knowing. “Even if she won’t admit it.”

A curt laugh escaped his lips and her grip on his hand tightened.

“We have enough now,” his father said to the others.

Dorian whirled towards him, understanding too late what his father meant.

Another smile crossed Asterin’s face. “Live, Dorian.”

Before he could move or speak any protest, Asterin flung him backwards. Blackness whooshed around him, as if he was falling through the night sky. With a violent jerk, he landed in his body, still upright, tears running down his face and his voice hoarse from screaming a single word. No.

**

It was all he could do to stay sane each night when they stopped to set up camp.

The Khagan’s armies were well-trained and fast. But no force this large could move through rough terrain quickly. Chaol and Yrene seemed to sense his impatience and left him alone in the evenings.

He needed to get to Orynth. Not just to relieve the forces besieged there.

They’d received word that the witches had arrived in time to meet an opposing legion. The news was old to him. Why else would the Thirteen have been in that in-between world.

Erawan’s armies were also on the move, though they hadn’t been able to find out if the valg king led them.

When Dorian happened upon the Khagan’s army and his friends, he’d told them everything. Rowan’s relief at hearing the keys were no longer an issue - meaning his mate didn’t have to finish the task herself - quickly morphed into confusion. As had Aelin’s and Chaol’s.

Having been thrown back into this world before the lock was completed, Dorian had no idea if the ghosts of his family and friends had been successful in banishing the gods. And Erawan with them.

Those bestowed favor by the gods - Elide, Lorcan, Yrene - none of them felt any sign that their guiding hands were gone. But that was not confirmation.

The uncertainty gnawed at them all, making Dorian’s desire to find Manon unbearable.

If it wasn’t for Chaol, he’d have transformed and flown to Orynth already. But he just reunited with his best friend. He couldn’t abandon him.

Instead, they moved slowly north, each night growing longer, leaving Dorian feeling more and more desperate.

**

Dorian was covered in blood. Red, black, even speckles of blue that had rained down from above. Looking between the black stain on the ground and its mirror on Damaris, he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened in that space between worlds.

Whatever his father had done to rid them of Erawan hadn’t worked. At least the keys themselves were no longer a threat. Traveling between worlds wasn’t possible. While there had been more signs that the gods were gone, he supposed only time would tell.

A boom of wings woke him from his thoughts and he turned in time to see Abraxos land behind him. The wyvern was himself covered in blood. And bandages. Dorian’s eyes widened in shock at the extent of the wounds he’d suffered.

As he moved quickly towards them, Manon slid down Abraxos’s side, too exhausted to leap.

By the time Dorian reached her, she was smiling faintly. He pulled her into a hug, releasing an anxious breath when her arms wrapped around him.

“Hello, princeling,” she rasped in his ear.

“Hello, witchling,” he replied, squeezing her a little tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

Her body tensed for just a moment before relaxing into him again.

“How did you know?”

“It’s a long story for later,” he said. “I’m just glad we’re both here. Alive.”


	8. Manon meets Dorian's family

 

 

 

Anonymous asked: Ahhh i love the Dorian fic! Your writing is amazing! Another prompt idea could be what would Manon's first visit to Dorian after the end be like, with her meeting his mother & brother

*****

“Are you nervous?”

Yrene’s question, along with her gleaming eyes and quirked smile, should have been a warning.

“No,” Manon replied, a little confused.

Why should she be nervous to meet Dorian’s mother and brother? She had no intentions of being rude, but their opinions made little difference to her. Especially considering what she knew - or didn’t know - of them.

Chaol had shared a few horrific stories of the brother. But the Queen Mother was more of a mystery. Beyond knowing the woman favored titles, Manon was clueless. She’d overheard no gossip, but the tense buzz filling the castle at her impending arrival was impossible to ignore.

Dorian had spoken little to her about either of them. She supposed that was all she needed to know. Another stark reminder that for both of them, true families weren’t always determined by blood.

It wasn’t until the day of, when she caught Dorian anxiously fidgeting with his jacket then tying and retying his cravat, that she felt the first wave of nerves.

His attention to his clothes made her examine her own.

She stared into the full length mirror standing beside Dorian’s closet. Her black boots and flying leathers were clean of blood or dirt, sported no tears or patches. Twelve golden silk threads were wound into her braid, subtle until they caught the light just so. Glennis had insisted on the crown, and won the argument, even though Manon didn’t feel it was necessary.

Now, she was glad to have the softly glowing stars adorn her head. Symbols held power. While it was an old saying meant more for others, she was quickly beginning to see how empowering they could be to the one wielding them.

Watching Dorian prepare, she couldn’t help but feel like she was walking into a trap. A trap made of human courtly gestures and human courting customs of which she was ignorant.

A knock sounded from the outer door of their suite and she heard Yrene call out a greeting.

Manon exhaled a sigh of relief. If anyone could give her advice, it was the healer. Yrene would be able to help her navigate through this wretched morning.

That was all she had to do. Get through the official court presentation Georgina had insisted on, followed by a short luncheon with a few select guests. Then she could disappear for a flight on Abraxos.

When Manon entered the sitting room, Yrene cringed. It lasted barely half a second, but Manon had seen it.

“I am not wearing a dress,” she said, not bothering to wait for the suggestion before shooting it down.

Yrene’s golden brown eyes searched her up and down and back up again. “What about a cloak? Your Crochan cloak? It might just add a little more…” She fluttered her hands in the air. “Pomp.”

“Pomp?”

“Formality,” Yrene said.

Manon scowled. “I know what it means.“

The woman smiled her sickly sweet smile that Manon had never been able to defend against.

“Please help me,” Manon said, desperate and at the same time reluctant. “I have no idea what I’m doing. All I know is that I’m not wearing a godsdamned dress.”

Yrene laughed. She walked past Manon to take the red cloak off its hook on the wall. “Here. This will help. There’s no need for a dress. Although I think you would look stunning in one.” She secured the silver clasp around Manon’s neck and stepped back, taking another long look. “I mean, you look stunning in flying leathers. But… You know that already.”

Manon couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s meaningless. Just one of the ways witches lure in their victims.” Her iron nails slid out, slowly so as not to scare the woman. “Distract them with your beauty and then go for the weak spot.”

Yrene grinned, her eyes narrowing on the lethal points. Not in fear. As if Manon could hear it whirring, she knew Yrene’s mind was racing with questions. The healer opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Dorian came through the door. Judging by the blush that crept over Yrene’s face, Manon could imagine what she was about to ask.

“Ready?” The quavering of his voice was almost inaudible. He dropped his head and scrubbed his hand through his hair, destroying all that he’d done to make it look perfect. “I hate this. All this ridiculous pomp and circumstance.”

Yrene’s eyes flashed to Manon and they shared a smirk.

Dorian took several deep breaths, willing himself to get through the next couple of hours. This time, his distress improved her mood. Proof this feeling of unavoidable ambush wasn’t all in her head.

Her earlier sense of not caring what this human woman and boy thought of her returned. Dorian wouldn’t change his opinions of her. Neither would Yrene. Or anyone else who mattered.

The light from her crown flared gently and she felt suffused with calm confidence. Taking Dorian’s hand and nodding to Yrene, she said, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

**

The complete lack of conversation at lunch made every bite of food, every slice of a knife, every sip of wine sound louder than the temple bells at Yulemas. The silence was…

Dorian sat his fork down, trying to think of a proper word to use.

Palpable.

No, that described the tension in the room, not the silence.

Deafening?

That worked, but it was overused.

A sharp kick to his shin made him almost jump out of his seat. He turned to his left to see Chaol glaring at him. He jerked his head towards the opposite side of the table to where Hollin was watching Manon.

Dorian turned to his right to find Manon glaring daggers at his younger brother. Her nails were out, and he had no doubt her teeth would be visible if she smiled. But there was no reason to smile.

Their introduction had, unsurprisingly, not gone well. Manon bore no blame, of course.

His mother had been courteous, yet cold. At her first glimpse of Manon, her eyes shot straight to the crown. Then to Wind Cleaver’s hilt peeking out over Manon’s shoulder. And back to the crown.

A queen in her own right, Manon stood straight and tall next to him, waiting for his mother to bow, or offer some sort of acknowledgement. The Queen Mother dipped her head, lower than Dorian had expected.

“Thank you for welcoming us home,” she said, an airy quality to her voice he remembered from before.

It was strained now though. An effort. He wished they could have done this in private. But his mother so loved following proper etiquette, especially with an audience.

He had to give her credit. She hadn’t balked at Manon’s fierceness, and she wasn’t groveling either, desperate to ingratiate herself to royalty. True, his mother looked down her nose at them, but there was no single target of her disapproval. It was spread among the crowd. She was always generous like that.

Dorian didn’t yet know what had happened to his mother and brother after Erawan had declared Hollin his heir. In the first letter he’d received from his mother after the war, he learned they’d been held prisoner in the mountain home he’d sent them to.

She made no mention of the ways in which they’d been imprisoned, what they’d endured. Perhaps it had been equal to a mildly unpleasant holiday - fewer servants, poor food. Or maybe Erawan had set his horrors upon them.

Seeing her now, she showed no signs of trauma, physical or mental. But… She’d never shown any hint of suffering while married to his father. Not for the first time, Dorian wondered how much she even knew. Suspecting her husband contained a valg prince might never have crossed her mind, but his father’s cruelties were well known.

And it appeared those cruelties had passed successfully to the man’s youngest son.

Upon seeing Manon, Hollin had drawled, “You couldn’t save that human girl so you got a witch? Well done, brother.”

It took every ounce of restraint to keep his magic from tearing the little shit apart.

Manon, who had no magic to contain, was instead forcing her nails and teeth to remain sheathed so she didn’t gut him. The sight made him love her even more.

Ultimately, they’d ignored Hollin. He was still technically a child, even if he had the personality of a viper. On top of his normal atrociousness, he was clearly angry that he was not on the throne. A public confrontation was what he wanted. They were determined not to give it to him. But gods, it was hard.

Now, watching his brother sink away from Manon’s glowering stare, Dorian thought calling Hollin a viper might be unduly offensive towards snakes. The thought made him laugh quietly, drawing the attention of everyone at the table.

Dorian no longer cared. He’d had enough of this onerous meal and stifling silence.

Stifling. Onerous. Those were good words, he thought.

The others had either finished their meals or abandoned them, so he stuffed the remainder of his food in his mouth. When he was done, he stood, tossing his napkin on his empty plate.

To the servants behind him, he said, “Excellent as always. Please thank the cook.”

To his mother, he bowed his head. “Mother, you will be shown to your rooms now. I’m sure you’ll find them beneath your usual standards, but as we’re still recovering from a war, you will have to make do.”

His words weren’t unkind, just matter of fact. She nodded in understanding, eyes filled with something he’d never seen there. Remorse.

He’d give her the night before asking questions about how they’d spent the war. He couldn’t remember the last honest conversation he’d had with her. Maybe he never had.

With this new and better world of theirs only beginning, he thought it was a good time to try.

She thanked him again, offered a hasty smile to Manon, then followed a servant out the door. The others took it as their cue and left as well, leaving only Chaol and Yrene still seated at the table.

And Manon and Hollin.

His brother seemed afraid to move under her merciless stare. Dorian bit back a grin.

“Apologize,” Manon growled.

Yrene’s eyes went wide. Chaol watched Hollin, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Dorian was almost tempted to say _he_ was sorry. For what, he didn’t know. Such was the power of that one word from Manon’s mouth.

Hollin wouldn’t look at her, clearly regretting his earlier statement. No, he didn’t regret what he said. Just that in hitting his mark, he’d pissed off an Ironteeth witch.

To Dorian’s - and Chaol’s - shock, Hollin stood and offered them a half-hearted bow. “My apologies.” His eyes remained on the floor as he turned and left.

There was a popping sound as Manon removed the tips of her nails from where they’d been dug into the wooden table.

Yrene stood and released a loud exhale. “Perhaps we should send him to Anielle to live with your father,” she said to Chaol. “Or would they make each other worse?”

Manon barked a laugh. Luckily, she’d never met Chaol’s father. Stories of him were more than enough. And, Dorian thought, hit a little too close to what she’d gone through with the matron.

“Worse. Definitely worse,” Chaol said. “But it’s a good last resort.” He rose and kissed his wife’s cheek as they went to check on baby Josefin.

“I’ve never heard him apologize before,” Dorian said, in disbelief.

“That barely qualified. I couldn’t let him get away with it.” Her voice trembled with renewed anger. “He’s lucky I waited until I calmed down.”

Dorian glanced at the ten rather large gouge marks in the table and smirked. “That’s calm, witchling?”

Manon walked over to him, stopping a hair’s breadth away. “That’s me defending someone I love.”

They’d said the words before to each other. _I love you_. Still, he never got over the lightening-strike feeling of hearing her say it to him.

After a long kiss that he wished would never end, he said, “Then allow me to thank someone I love with a flight on her wyvern. And to celebrate surviving my family.”

“I accept. As soon as I change into suitable clothes.”

“You’re already wearing them aren’t you? Or is that your way of asking me to help you out of them?”

Manon looked down at herself. “These are too clean to fly in. I’ll keep them for special occasions.” Walking away, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes a fiery gold. “But yes. You may help, princeling.”


	9. Dorian's magic

anonymous asked:

Ahhh just read the fic u reblog and i love it so here's another prompt: dorian thinks manon gets seriously injured in the battle with erawan and maeve and unleashes all of his magic in anger

 

* * *

 

 

It had been naïve. Naïve and foolish to hope that the valg would be simple soldiers just going through the motions to follow the orders of their evil king and princes. These former men were mindless, but they were still killing machines. Desperate to slaughter and rid the world of human, fae, witch… anyone who stood in their way. Dorian sucked in a ragged breath before pushing on to the next body in a never ending sea of enemies.

Chaol was somewhere nearby, but he had no idea what had become of Aelin and her cadre. And gods damn him, he refused to look up into the sky.

Blue blood rained down onto the field with a constancy that almost made him sick. The thought that any of it might belong to Manon pushed him towards the edge of a panic that seemed to feed from his magic. His magic, which had always protected her, with or without his intent, was growing ever more insistent.

Dorian allowed himself one quick scan of the sky, only one. Seeing nothing but a chaos of wings and teeth and talons, he returned to the valg, slicing one through the chest with Damaris. The Wild Men, living up to their reputations, had managed to clear a small area, giving him a moment to catch his breath. Dorian spotted Chaol and nudged his horse in his direction.

“I’m trying to decide if this is better or worse than your early morning training sessions,” Dorian said, wiping Damaris along his leg to clean off some of the filth.

Chaol laughed as he stretched in his saddle. “At least I let you take longer breaks,” he said, nodding to the valg charging towards them. Their brief respite was about to end.

As the enemy crashed into the Wild Men who still circled them, Dorian forgot his earlier pledge and glanced skyward. In the midst of the fighting, a pair of shimmering wings caught his eye and his heart stuttered. He was about to smile when out of nowhere, Abraxos was overtaken by an enormous wyvern. The giant beast’s talons grabbed hold of the smaller animal and threw him into the forest lining the battlefield.

A flash of red cloak and white hair fell with her mount.

“NOOOO!!”

Ignoring the oncoming valg, Chaol had followed Dorian’s eyes. Needing no explanation, he turned to Dorian and simply said, “Go!”

Without thought, Dorian shifted into a raven and sped towards the forest. There were valg everywhere, along with Erawan’s witches hovering just above the canopy. So many enemies converging on one point, as if Manon had been targeted.

She was the Witch Queen, and their hated enemy. It made sense for her to be a target. But as he watched more and more valg pour into the trees, he knew there was something else going on. And that’s when he sensed it.

Carried in by an ilken, Erawan dropped to the ground and strolled slowly into the pine trees, shouting directions to his soldiers to find the witch.

Unbidden, Maeve’s voice sounded in Dorian’s head.

_Was she your intended queen? Or merely a prize breeding mare?_

A dread more sickening than the bloody rain claimed him and he almost tumbled from the sky. Regaining his balance, he darted into the woods, only to realize he had no idea where she was in the thick forest. But as he blocked out the shouts of valg and screams of wyverns, a strange sensation filled him. Surrendering to it, he felt a pull to the left and followed it, letting his magic lead the way.

“Manon? Can you hear me?”

The raven’s small shape had given him an advantage in speed over the enemy. And when combined with his guiding magic, he’d found her quickly.

Abraxos had her hidden beneath a wing. As well as behind his lethal fangs and iron-spiked tail that swished through the air like a mountain cat. The moment he saw Dorian shift back to his human form, some of the tension in him eased. But not all. It still took some convincing before the wyvern revealed his unconscious rider.

An arrow jutted through her shoulder, another through her leg. Blue blood leaked from each wound and from her parted mouth. He had to fight the urge to grab her and flee. Not knowing how far she’d fallen, he decided it would be better to try and get her to move on her own.

Dorian brushed his hand softly against her face. “Witchling?”

Her chest rose and sank, but the movement was so slow, so slight, that he started to panic again. With the valg and Erawan combing the forest floor, and witches overhead, they didn’t have much time.

Just before he was about to give in and pick her up, Manon’s eyes opened. It took her a moment to recognize him, but after several blinks, she said, “Dorian? You survived Morath.”

The relief in her voice was no match to what he felt at seeing her golden eyes.

Smiling back tears, Dorian said, “Lucky for you that I did. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here to rescue you.”

The words did their job and Manon frowned as she tried to push herself up.

“Hold on,” Dorian said. “The arrows.” Hoping to distract her from the pain, he spoke quickly and filled her in on who was combing the forest for her. But Manon barely winced as he broke the ends off the two arrows and pulled them out. As he searched for something to bind the wounds, he asked, “Can you get into the saddle?”

Before she could answer, Abraxos released a low, menacing growl. Men’s voices sounded from nearby.

Not men. Valg.

Abraxos crouched between them and a group of soldiers emerging from the trees.

The valg parted and Erawan walked out, ignoring the wyvern as his soldiers surrounded them. Dorian had half a thought to throw Manon on top of the wyvern and send them away. But some of the soldiers’ crossbows were pointed at Abraxos, precluding any hope of escape. Helping her walk, they moved out from behind the wyvern.

“Well, I was not expecting to find my predecessor here. But I am pleased. What with our unsettled business.” The creature grinned at Dorian. “It seems I have the opportunity to… what is it you humans say? Kill two birds with one stone?” His voice dripped with venom. When his foul stare fell on Manon, Erawan said, “Although I have no plans to kill you, my crowned rider.” His menace took on a disturbing, covetous edge that made Manon bare her iron teeth.

Dorian’s magic writhed within him, begging to be unleashed, but he tamped it down. After the creation of the lock, his well of power had a distinct bottom. He was already much to close to reaching it.

The valg around them crept closer while the wyverns above filled the sky. There truly was no way out. Erawan laughed as Dorian drew Damaris from its sheath. Manon pushed herself away and reached for Wind Cleaver with her good arm. She was unsteady on her injured leg, but through sheer will she stood straight.

“Whatever you came here for,” she said, “it won’t end the way you plan.” She glanced at Dorian, a promise in her gaze, and a plea for one in return.

She’d once told him she would kill him before they could put another valg collar around his neck. He’d been grateful then. But he’d also been resigned to the fact that he wasn’t worth saving. Dorian wasn’t so sure he felt that way anymore. Too many things had happened. To him, to them. He was probably being naïve again, but he wanted to live. He wanted her to live. Both of them, together.

Dorian looked to Erawan and said, “I made a mistake letting you survive the destruction of Morath.” The creature’s eyes narrowed and he clenched a fist, confirming what Dorian suspected. Even if Maeve told Erawan all that had happened in Morath, she wasn’t exactly trustworthy, and Dorian was someone the king would likely brush off as weak. 

The valg king smiled again, making Dorian uneasy. “Are you infatuated with my witch? Stupid boy. Your betrothed will not be happy to hear that. Maeve was so looking forward to being your queen.”

Dorian winced at the sharp intake of breath beside him. Gods damn him.

“Oh, wasn’t she aware?” Erawan asked, reveling in their reactions.

Dorian didn’t dare turn to look at Manon. He could imagine the hurt and betrayal she felt, he didn’t need to see it.

Ignoring him, Manon addressed Erawan. “I’ll slit my own throat before you touch me.”

The conviction in her voice brought an end to Erawan’s enjoyment of this game. He looked between the two of them, frowning. “You truly prefer death then?”

Manon said nothing, her knuckles turning white where she gripped her sword.

Erawan growled, an otherworldy sound that sent a chill down Dorian’s spine. “So be it,” he said, slashing an empty hand through the air in Manon’s direction.

Dorian’s magic reacted, but not fast enough to keep her from being flung backwards against a tree. His entire body trembled as Erawan laughed and called for his men to take Dorian alive. But what Erawan mistook for fear became clear to the valg soldiers, who stopped short as they neared Dorian.

Rage.

Dorian pulsed with it. His magic roared with it, having always reacted most strongly to this emotion in its host. This time, he made no effort to contain it, had no care about a burn-out and all that might entail. Instead, Dorian let the raw power burst forth and take what it wanted. What _he_ wanted.

A blast of air, followed by an ear-splitting boom, rushed through the woods, spreading out from him in a perfect circle and leaving nothing but death in its wake. Valg soldiers, witches and their mounts, even the trees couldn’t stand against it.

The last glimpse he had of Erawan was of the valg king’s sneer morphing to wide-eyed shock as he was thrown aside and impaled on a tree limb. With black blood oozing from his chest, Erawan stared in confusion at the King of Adarlan, unable to fathom what had just happened, unable to connect this power to the one that had brought down Morath. And before he had a chance to make sense of it, Damaris rang through the air and through his neck.

When the wave of magic crested, Dorian fell to his knees.  

All was silent around him, and he wasn’t sure if it was because his ears were damaged from the blast, or if he’d killed every living thing in Erilea. A part of him, the part that remembered another severed head, hoped for the latter and wished he’d been taken too.

When the distant shouts and screams of battle drifted back, he slumped over, cursing himself for failing yet again. A gruff moan from behind caught his attention and Dorian turned.

Abraxos was nudging Manon with his snout, willing her to move. A tiny noise escaped her lips.

Too exhausted to stand, Dorian crawled, moving as quickly as he could. This time when he reached her, he wasn’t gentle. Blood seeped out from under her breastplate. He tore off her armor and leathers to reveal a gash in her abdomen. It crossed over the scar she’d received from her grandmother, though it appeared less severe. But, she’d found them off the Eyllwe coast long after that wound had been inflicted, giving it time to deteriorate into an infected mess. Maybe this one was worse.

Ripping strips of material from Manon’s shirt, he tried desperately to staunch the flow of blood, all the while remembering those first days after she’d arrived on the ship.

Rowan had led the healing, with assistance from Aelin, while Dorian had refused to take part. They thought he was too squeamish to help. On the face of it they were right. But the real reason he’d sat back was because he didn’t trust himself. His healing ability worked without a thought on his own injuries. But he was untested using it on others. Too unsure of his magic and too aware of the chance he might hurt her, he watched and learned. And wished he was the one saving her.

Now, even with the sense that his magic was incapable of harming her, he hesitated. But, there was no one else around. No time to find a healer. No time to worry about whether he even had any magic left.

Abraxos moaned again, louder and more desperate. A plea, to do something, anything.

Dorian brushed the tears from his eyes and then squeezed them shut. Gritting his teeth, he dipped down into himself, hoping against hope to find enough power to heal her.

There was a seed, a spark. Perhaps just enough to stabilize Manon in order to get her to a healer.

With his hands hovering over the slash, he directed his magic through little tugs and pulls. Phantom healing instruments instead of hands. The farther along he went, the more certain he became that the Matron’s attack had been worse. By the time he closed the wound and wiped away as much blood as he could, he felt confident she would live.

Only then did Dorian dare to touch her. Laying one hand over the wound and another over her heart, he poured what little magic he had left into her, unclear what it might actually do. There was no logical explanation for it. It just felt right.

When he felt the spark of magic snuff out, Dorian sat back, surprised to feel Abraxos against him, propping him up.

“Thank you,” Dorian said, the exhaustion of burn-out already closing over him.

They could hear the battle still raging, but neither he nor Abraxos looked away from Manon. Though it felt like hours, it was only a few minutes before her eyes slowly opened.

Sighing with relief, Dorian leaned over and kissed her. “Hello witchling.”

Manon smiled as Abraxos twisted his head under her hand, forcing her to rub his snout. When she realized it was the hand of her injured arm, and that it no longer hurt, she pushed herself up. Seeing Dorian’s state, she quickly surmised what he’d done. And just as he was about to fall over, she grabbed him and rested him gently on his back.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gravelly and his eyes fluttering shut. He sighed again as she touched him, brushing the hair off his face.

“No, I’m not,” she replied. If she hadn’t kept her hand on his cheek, he would have been more worried about her bitter tone. “So. You’re betrothed?”

Dorian laughed, then pulled her hand over to kiss it. “Only to you,” he said, suddenly feeling as if he’d had a bottle or two of strong wine.

It must be the burn-out, he thought. Or did he say that out loud?

Manon didn’t sound amused. “What of Maeve?”

“Maeve?” The name was familiar. He couldn’t concentrate long enough to remember though.

“The female you are to marry?”

“Oh,” he said, as a flash of clarity hit him. “She’s a valg queen actually. And I took her powers after tricking her into helping me steal the wyrdkey.” He finally opened his eyes to find her staring at him, a quirk to her lips that made him grin. “She may have been under the impression that I was looking for a queen. But I made it clear to her before I left…”

Dorian didn’t finish the thought as sleep began to pull him under.

“Made it clear?” Manon prodded. “How?”

Just before he passed out, Dorian mumbled, “There is only one witch who will be my queen.”

***

Manon was glad he wasn’t able to see the smile that spread across her face. Erawan’s words had been a punch that landed closer than the valg king could have imagined. But as Dorian fell asleep in her lap, the pain of it was fading quickly. She’d make him explain in more detail later. For now, she was just relieved to have him here, alive and able to explain.

With one look from her, Abraxos was up and ready. Manon lifted Dorian and threw him over her shoulder. She’d have to find a way to get him through the battle and back to the castle. After strapping him in to the saddle, she collected their swords and her discarded armor. Settling in behind him, she examined her stomach and the new scar stretching across it. He’d healed her in mere minutes. After bringing down Erawan and his minions.

She turned her gaze back to Dorian, marveling over his power. And wondering how long she should make him suffer over his “betrothal”.

“A good long while,” she said, another smile forming. Abraxos huffed in agreement just before he bounded into the air.


End file.
